BY RYAN RODRIGUEZ Editor's Note: The following short story was sent in some months ago, the author . recommended as an emerging young writer who deserves a chance. I couldn tfind the right spot for it — we don ’t publish prose fiction. But I told the author that I ’d like to hang onto it in case we did a book issue. The time has come. FRIDAY The silence was discomforting. Please, someone speak. GBLT meet- ings should be more interesting. Sitting in a circle of stillness. Evan Tomball, seventeen—year—old bisexual with identity issues. Graham Marshall, fourteen, baby in the group. Nick Lacey, poetic eyes and body ofa god. Across the circle, Nick smiled. . God, he was beautiful, long auburn hair, beautiful blue eyes. After the meeting, Nick and I were alone. Nick explained that he’d only be here this one time. Nick and I said our goodbyes. hugged. and gave each other a _ light kiss. Back to the shallowness, narcis- sism, and labeling that went on in the halls. Period after period of overstressed teachers and lazy underachievers calling me names. People knew I was gay. I told my parents, but they act as ifl never said it. My friends are ok with it. My favorite class is Gym, not for the reasons one might think. My least favorite, math, has a bunch of pretenders acting as ifthey like me. ' I After the long treacheries of school, I head to my job at Benny’s, a place of great interest, with generally two types of people: the incredibly lazy and the incredibly medicated. All they ever do is give me blank stares and point to the menu. My mother’s always waiting for me so she can yell at me for something I didn’t do. My dad was the kind of guy who’d rather watch weird guests on a talk show than step foot on a treadmill. Bickering is all that ever goes on in my home. I love my parents dearly. It’s just sometimes I wish they’d come with a mute button. You should have heard my mom when I said I was gay. _ ’ “Oh no, it’s just a phase.” Lying in bed I think of him. His face, body, eyes, all so tempting. I lull myselfto sleep thinking of his voice. SATURDAY first met him through the online person- als made for queer youth. Nick and I started talking, and before I knew we were swapping pictures. This was before I saw him at the GBLT meeting. I look for his name on my buddy list. Not there. I feel so exasperated. Immediately after signing off, the phone begins with its cacophony of sounds. “Hello?” “Hey.” My face lights up. “Nick, what’s up?” ' “Bad news, man, we’re moving.” My mouth drops, tears flood my I’m lost in his eyes. He’s so beautiful. In a fluid motion, I stand, walk to him and place my hand upon his cheek. eyes. “What? Where?” I can hardly * breathe. A stifled laughter filters in. “What’s so funny?” “My mom’s moving us up to Boston!” I My heart skips a beat. “That that’s wonderful! Now we can be togeth- er.” “You got it, doc,” he says, coyly. Doc, his nickname for me, it felt so good to hear him say it again. We chat I for a little while then hang up. I run around the house, full of energy. I kiss the dog, the mirror; anything in sight touches my lips. Soon, his lips and mine will be together forever. I find a picture of him and hold it tightly to my chest; I can feel my heart beat. Nick. His very name sends pleas- ure through my body. He’s coming tomor- row! My eyes close and I fall onto the couch, my body tingling. For the rest of the day, he runs through my mind. SUNDAY Dawn has approached. I drive to his new house and spot him walking out of the U-Haul carrying a box marked “Nick.” Those eyes. I walk out of the car without turning it off and run toward him. I throw my arms around his waist and place my head into the back of his neck. His mother walks out of the , doorway and smiles. “You must be the infamous Mark my Nick’s told me so much about.” I’m too busy listening for his heartbeat. I feel him chuckle. ' ' “Let go, I have to bring this box inside. Here you take one and follow me.” We’re in his room. I’ve dreamt about this. I kiss him lightly, waiting for more. He places the box on the floor and sits in a foldable chair. Silence. Two of us staring at each other, smiling. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers. I’m lost in his eyes. He’s so beautiful. In a fluid motion, I stand, walk to him and place my hand upon his cheek. His eyes close. There’s a knock at the door. _ “Those boxes don’t unload them- selves,” his mother says, half-jokingly. Later, we watch a movie, lying on his bed, arms enfolded. After the movie, I drive home,‘ without him. When I arrive, I i go for my keys in my pocket and out comes a slip of paper. “Je t’adore.” MONDAY During first period I hear a boy do one of those fake coughs calling “Queer!” The Q word. I brush it off as ifit never happened. When I first came out, people called me Q. I told Nick that it was the worst nickname I’ve ever had, and that it made me feel insecure. "He told me he’d never call me that. I decided to skip work to go see Nick. Driving up to his house, I saw only one car in the driveway. Yes! I run full speed. He opens the door and I charge him, grabbing him and burying my face into his. He pushes me off. “I came to see you!” I try to kiss him again, but he pushes me away. I “Can you come back at another time? “Why? What’s wrong?” “I’m just busy; I’m leaving soon, so...” he trailed off. “l’ll go with you!” I proposed. “I don’t know — it’s not going to be that fun.” “What’s the matter?” I sensed something was wrong but I couldn’t seem to put my finger on it. “Nothing, why would something be the matter?” There was distant rumbling. I knew what was going on, but I couldn’t I believe it. “Who is it?” I ask, fighting back tears. He sighs, opens the door fully. Standing in nothing but his undershorts, is Evan Tomball. Heat rises to my face. I can’t hold back the tears. “Why? Were you hoping to win me over but when I wasn’t fast enough, you decided to just move-onto the next boy? Lemme guess, you’ve been seeing Graham also. Am I right?” For a moment I . felt like giving him a swift kick in the butt. No answer. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” I leave him with a smirk on his face. In one weekend, I felt love, anger, hate, and betrayal. Tears run down my cheek. Once again I reach into my pockets; once again I find a note. When could he have placed it there? Is it an apology? Was he expecting me to find them together? Thoughts flood my head as I slowly open it. . There, written in beautiful callig- raphy, was the letter: Q. V Ryan Rodriguez, age 15, attends a youth support group in Burlington.